A/N: Written for Prompts in Panem, The Language of Flowers, Day 1. Primrose: "Childhood" The early stages of development. Katniss and Peeta in the first flushes of youth.
Banner by Ro Nordmann.
One Moment More
Give me just one part of you to cling to
And keep me everywhere you are
It's just enough to steal my heart and run
And fade out with the falling sun
-Mindy Smith, One Moment More
A few weeks ago, Katniss fell out of a tree trying to steal the eggs out of a nest. She landed flat on her back. I dropped my bow and rushed to her side, taking her tiny body in my arms as she tried to gulp in air that wouldn't go in. She had the wind knocked out of her and all I could do was tell her not to be scared, that she would be okay eventually, and even though I knew I was right, I was still terrified. That's the thing about being a parent: when your kid is scared out of her mind, you are too.
So, I know that the feeling of breathlessness that I'm feeling right now is mirroring my daughter's.
"Katniss? Come on, darling," Effie Trinket says into her microphone. "Up, up!"
The Peacekeepers have begun to organize outside the twelve-year-old section, ready to escort my daughter to Effie Trinket in her lime green suit and ridiculous matching wig. Her face is so caked with makeup this year that I wouldn't be surprised if she said she rolled around in flour at Mellark's bakery before reading the names. My fingers have gone numb from the crushing strength my wife is producing. Bevan is squeezing my hand so tightly I would hardly be surprised to see a bruise in the morning. In her other arm she is pressing Prim's face to her, holding her as if she'll be taken away as well.
Katniss steps out of the crowd of tiny girls. This morning, Bevan had braided her hair and kissed her forehead. We had both told her not to worry. Her name was only in there once. It wouldn't be her. When she had been born, and then Prim, I had vowed that neither of them would ever take out a single tessera ration. But, in the end, I suppose it didn't matter.
She stands as tall as she can, but even from here I can see her shaking. The Peacekeepers guide her to the steps and she takes a breath, tucking in the tail of her shirt before stepping up. That is when I lose it. My breath catches in my throat at the sight of her tucking in the back of her shirt into her skirt – her duck tail. My little duck, my firstborn, is going to the slaughter.
At the top of the steps, Effie Trinket is there to grab her. The smile on her face is only minimally hiding the shock of Katniss's size and age. She's not excited to see my daughter die. She's only been our escort for a year and our last tributes were both seventeen. She's never reaped a twelve-year-old before and now Katniss is her first. When Effie Trinket calls for a volunteer it almost sounds like a plea, or perhaps that's just the way I'm thinking of it, but the result is the same as every year. There is no volunteer. There will never be a volunteer. Not in Twelve, where volunteering is synonymous with suicide.
"We should be excited for our female tribute!" Effie Trinket cheers, clapping her hands, but the crowd is restless, just as they always are when a twelve-year-old is reaped. To the credit of our district, we stopped clapping years ago. The only sound is the quiet dissent that comes with the reaping of a twelve-year-old. Usually I would be among them, but this year I just feel an overwhelming sense of numbness.
Katniss wipes her cheek with back of her hand and I feel part of my heart shatter in my chest.
"Well, on to the boys!" Effie Trinket says cheerfully, probably hoping to draw the name of a handsome eighteen-year-old, which will take away the quiet hum of hatred that echoed with my daughter's name. She walks across the stage, her heels clicking on the cement. She puts on a huge show of grabbing the name, swirling her hand around and then lifting the single slip of paper that will seal another child's fate before clicking back toward the microphone.
Katniss brings the back of her hand to her face, wiping her nose, as Effie Trinket calls out, "Peeta Mellark!"
Effie Trinket couldn't have pulled a worse name. I turn quickly to the left where the Town folks are huddled on the other side of the invisible district divide. Bran Mellark looks about as crestfallen as I feel as he backs up into a coal cart, his head in his hands. Not only is Peeta Mellark another twelve-year-old, but he's Town. It's been six years since a Town kid was reaped and before her the last to be reaped was Maysilee Donner. It's almost always Seam.
And the Town folks are not happy about a reaping of one of their twelve-year-olds.
A few of the men make loud remarks, not as trained as Seam men. We know to hold our tongues because we watch our kids go every year. But the Town is furious at a twelve-year-old from their side being called. It's never happened before. I quickly turn away as the Peacekeepers head over, their hands resting on the guns they never use, and I find that Peeta Mellark is making good time getting to the stage. He stumbles up, a tiny little thing in clothes a size too big that are obviously hand-me-downs from his two brothers, and when he stands beside Katniss I see that they're the same height. Effie Trinket is trying but she can't hide the look of devastation she holds, clearly upset that Peeta isn't eighteen and handsome and able to get her out of this mess.
There is no time to ask for a volunteer. Cleat Cartwright is getting right in the face of one of the Peacekeepers imported from the Capitol to oversee the event. The new Peacekeeper fires a shot in the air and the crowd goes crazy. Prim begins to wail and I lift her out of Bevan's arms, cradling her against my chest. On stage, I see that Effie Trinket is frantically trying to call order, but Haymitch is taking care of it. He grabs Katniss and Peeta, jerking both the kids to life from their wide-eyed stares. He takes Katniss, lifting my daughter's petrified body in his arms, and Mayor Undersee all but throws Peeta into the Justice Building before shutting the door, protecting the tributes and our only living victor for at least a few more days before the slaughter.
Chaos. That's the only word I can think to use to describe what is going on. As the Peacekeepers continue to torment the Town men, the Seam men begin to take action as well. I set Prim down on the ground and push my wife and daughter deeper into the crowd before following the men in my shift toward the chaos. Storm Hawthorne sends me a look before leading the way, his hot temper getting ahead of him. Perhaps he's thinking of his own son, a fourteen-year-old this year that was eligible, with three little ones still to go. Shale Lockheart, a hulk of a man that dwarfs Peacekeepers in full uniform, is right by his side, his own daughters smaller than Prim but he's a man who realizes the threat. They connect with me. Although they don't usually speak with Katniss, they know her through me. It hits home.
Another shot fires into the air.
What we're doing isn't smart. We are acting on passion alone. Although the Peacekeepers of Twelve are not necessarily the Capitol's finest, they are still fully armed and trained to kill in times of defiance. And we are definitely defiant. Someone screams. A shot fires. One of the merchants falls with a sickening thump. Someone screams again.
I feel hands on me and I turn, deep-seated rage welling in me until I see bright red hair. Darius eyes me and shakes his head before pulling me out of the crowd and toward the Justice Building.
"I thought you might want to see your daughter," he says.
Darius knows I hunt illegally and he's a frequent patron of the Hob. Because of this, he is the only Peacekeeper I trust to be fair. And now he is giving me even more reason. To pull me out of the crowd for my last moments with Katniss will almost certainly cost him his job, if not his tongue or even his life, and all I can do is rest my hands on his shoulders in thanks before sprinting up the steps and into the Justice Building.
Katniss is sobbing in Bevan's arms, Prim right along with her. They're not in holding rooms. Instead Haymitch is sitting in a chair, watching with a thin mouth as Bran Mellark holds his boy and my wife rocks our daughter. I walk forward and Bevan hands her off to me. I lift her up and press my lips to her ear, singing a song I haven't sung in years.
"…Strange things did happen here.
No stranger would it be.
If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree..."
I used to sing this to Katniss as a lullaby, but Bevan forced me to stop as soon as Katniss began singing the lyrics right along with me. Now, I couldn't care less if Katniss sings the whole damn song on live television. This is the only type of dissent I can do. I can't save my daughter.
When I finish the final verse, Katniss looks at me and I wipe the tears off her cheeks. The tears still run in rivers from her eyes, which look at me much like a deer does before it realizes it's about to be shot. My daughter is going to die. She knows. There is no hope for a tiny twelve-year-old from an outlying district, no matter what I think of her amateur bow skills.
"I love you, little duck," I tell her because that's the only thing I can think to say.
She kisses my cheek and sings in my ear.
"Here your dreams are sweet
and tomorrow brings them true.
Here is the place where I love you."
We are shuffled into the square the following day for the tribute parade. They push us along like they do cattle in Ten, as if we are the ones headed to the slaughter. This might be the case, if we are to lash out as we did yesterday, but it won't. We will be subdued in our anger. There is no great good to come out of being killed for the majority of the people here and yesterday's backlash was merely passion. The only two men in the crowd now that would gladly give their lives for the protection of these kids are myself and Bran Mellark.
The screen is already on, showing the conversation between Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith, when Bevan and I make our way in. Prim has her arms around my neck, her face buried into the fabric of my shirt. Earlier today she asked if Katniss would look different and I hadn't known what to say.
We find out soon enough.
The parade starts with One, and the two kids look like vixens, covered in gems and showing much too much for the eighteen year olds they are. Caesar, however, loves the sparkle and the crowds go wild when the boy smirks at the crowd and the girl sends a few kisses.
Two is just as spectacular to Caesar, but in a different way. The two are hulks. The boy easily surmounts Shale Lockheart, the largest man I know, and the girl looks as if she has razor sharp teeth. They stand stoic, not waving or coddling the crowd, but appearing dangerous and bloodthirsty. Prim buries her head deeper into my shoulder.
Three isn't noteworthy, as their costumes are similar to the ones they wore last year, their bodies snaked with wire, making it look as if they are trapped. Four has dressed their tributes formally, the boy in a dark suit with a blue tie, the girl in a dress that looks to be made of murky water. The boy however has a trident – Caesar saying the stylists must be trying to draw on the popularity of Finnick Odair – and they both wave at the crowds. Caesar says the girl was reaped, the boy was a volunteer, but they are both eighteen.
Five and Six go by and our district begins to get antsy. Seven has looked like trees for as long as I can remember and this year is no different. Eight and Nine as well look like nothing spectacular and Ten has turned their tributes into cows. Eleven's tributes are dressed in sacks of grain and nothing else, making our entire district cringe.
And then it's Twelve.
My mouth curls in disgust. The District 12 stylists must think their job is some kind of joke. Katniss and Peeta are covered in coal dust, making the skin of their faces look like it's caked in dirt. Even Peeta's hair, normally a bright Town blond, is dark and soot-covered, making him look more like Katniss than himself. The two of them look like miners in their clothes.
And they are terrified. It's written all over their faces. They are the only twelve year olds this year, all the others at least thirteen. As those in the Capitol begin to cheer their names, Katniss begins to shake and Peeta turns to her, puts on a brave face, and hugs her.
The crowd goes wild.
"Look at that!" Caesar yells. "I love that!"
A quiet murmur flows through the crowd in District 12 as Caesar and Claudius begin to talk, wondering if Katniss and Peeta knew each other prior to the reaping. The Peacekeepers grab their guns, readying themselves to take action if necessary, but we aren't stupid. Instead we let the hatred simmer.
I hold Prim tightly to me as President Snow addresses the tributes. "Tributes, we salute your courage," he says. I feel Prim's wet tears soaking through my shirt. "And your sacrifice."
About a week later, we're brought into the square to receive the tribute's training scores. In the time between the parade and the score readings, our district has done nothing to alert the Peacekeepers. We have been done everything by the book. Our coal quotas have been filled each day. We are better behaved now than we've ever been and this alone should alert them to our dissatisfaction.
"We'll just bide our time," Storm said to me one day down in the mines. Shale nodded his head on my other side. "If they think we're going to watch two twelve-year-olds die sitting down, they're even less in tuned to us than I thought."
My daughter and Peeta Mellark are sparking rebellious thoughts in a district known for its tranquility.
We have to watch the other eleven district's scores come through before we know what they've given Katniss and Peeta. Both kids from One get nines. The girl from Two, who's good with spears according to Caesar Flickerman, gets a ten. The boy from Two also gets a ten, probably from his towering stance and evil expression. The tributes from three get eights. The girl from Four gets a nine. The boy from Four a ten. The rest of the tributes get varying scores from bad to mediocre, except the girl from Eleven. She's a monstrosity and pulls a nine.
"And now, onto District Twelve," Caesar says, flipping a paper on his desk as Peeta's picture comes up beside him. "Peeta Mellark…with a score of…" Caesar smiles. "Eight."
The entire district, Town and Seam alike, erupts into a fierce collection of cheers. Usually, our tributes pull some of the worst scores – we have, to this date, the only tribute to ever score a one – and for a twelve year old to get an eight, it's unheard of. And, if the baker's son can get an eight, I know my girl can do better.
"And Katniss Everdeen," Caesar continues as Katniss's picture shows up in place of her district partner's. "A score of…" Caesar looks down at his paper and his eyes widen. When he speaks, he's clearly shocked. "A score of eleven."
We have never had a tribute with the highest score, at least not in my memory. Even when Haymitch won, he'd only received a nine, Maysilee a seven, and the two young kids from the Seam had a four and five. This is cause for celebration. Our tributes have sustained high scores and, even if they're twelve, this is a good thing. A murmur floods through the square – perhaps Finnick Odair won't be the youngest victor anymore.
But all I can think about is the fact that my daughter now has a target painted on her back.
Interviews are mandatory so when the bells chime at six we make our way into the square. Bevan and Prim head from home and I have to go from the mines, where we're let out early in order to watch. Caesar is just getting ready to welcome the first tribute, the girl from One, when we make our way across the district, our clothes still covered in coal dust and our helmets under our arms. Just as during the parade, the girl from One is wearing something that makes the district cringe. The dress is see-through and she's trying to pull the sexy card, just as tributes from One always do to varying degrees of success. This girl is good. And when she smiles to the crowd it is equal parts vicious and excited. I try not to imagine her carving out Katniss's face with a knife.
Her district partner can only be described as debonair. He charms his interviewer with his etiquette and speech. The crowd loves him. Our crowd, on the other hand, looks down at our own clothes and attempts to clean our hands of the dirt and coal dust, as if our cleanliness will help our tributes.
Two's tributes are well versed but brutal. They both talk about their strategies of killing. Three's tributes are quiet and stutter out their answers. The girl from Four says she just wants to go home to her family and her boyfriend, who Caesar tries to pry into and she just shakes her head and says, "He's always with me." Four's boy is a brute ready to win.
Five and Six have tributes that look scared to death. Seven has a girl whose brother was a tribute the previous year and a boy who is the oldest of four. Eight and Nine don't leave any sort of impression with the audience of the Capitol, which is already starting to appear bored. Ten's cows are terrified and the boy can't be more than a year older than Katniss. Eleven's tall girl is quiet. The boy is fierce but small.
"And now," Caesar says, directing to the crowd as the Eleven boy goes back to his seat. "You know her as one half of the twelves from Twelve! But we know her as Katniss Everdeen!"
I nearly start singing when I see Katniss step out in a white lace dress with a gigantic pink sash. For the first time since her reaping I'm thrilled she's twelve so she didn't get dressed like the girl from One. She's dressed to play the innocent angle.
For being such a popular and fearless girl, my daughter was never good with words. In fact, she made herself sick the night before she had to make a speech in front of her class at school. So, I've been dreading this all day. Interviews are when many of the sponsors are decided and I'm holding out the hope that maybe, with her score and Haymitch to help her, she can pull through.
Katniss stares at the crowd with wide and frightened eyes, so lost that when Caesar asks her a question she doesn't answer. I hold my breath, hoping that she won't get sick. But Caesar genuinely helps the tributes and I feel my breath leave me when he touches her arm and smiles at her.
"What's your favorite thing about the Capitol thus far, sweetheart?" he asks and Katniss scrunches her nose.
"Don't call me that," she says with a slight groan. "That's what Haymitch calls me."
The crowd bursts into laughter, in the Capitol and in Twelve, as Katniss covers her mouth with her hand. The camera pans to Haymitch, who is sitting with the other mentors. He's attempting to hide the smile on his face and he points back to her to get the cameras to leave him.
Caesar lets out a few extra chuckles and pats her arm. "Funny, funny," he says, flashing a grin to the crowd before continuing. "So, Katniss, what's your favorite thing about the Capitol?"
She looks to her lap shyly and shrugs. "The lamb stew is really good," she says softly.
Caesar nods. "The one with the dried plums? That's my favorite as well. I hope it doesn't show."
Katniss doesn't understand. Growing up in Twelve, she's never seen people overweight. Those in the Capitol understand his joke, telling him that he looks great, but Katniss looks confused and flustered, as if she's said something wrong. Caesar must see this because he smiles at her and asks her about home, what she misses the most.
"My sister, Prim. She's eight," Katniss says, looking up at Caesar with a bit of life in her eyes. "And my Momma and Daddy."
"I can imagine that must be hard," Caesar says as the crowd awws. "But, you look like you've made a friend here in your district partner."
Katniss looks back into her lap and doesn't answer, so Caesar tries something else. "Now, you scored an eleven. I won't pry, but that is impressive!" The crowd screams in excitement. "You won't give us a hint?"
She shakes her head, her braids hitting her shoulders. "Haymitch told me not to give away any secrets."
"Ooh," Caesar chuckles. "Secrets, you say. Well, I guess we'll just have to wait until tomorrow then."
At that Katniss's eyes bug, as if she hadn't realized that tomorrow is the day she goes into the arena. Luckily her time is up and she heads to her chair, keeping her head down as Caesar calls Peeta up to interview.
For being the son of our functionally mute baker, Peeta is surprisingly verbose. He throws a few jokes at Caesar that have even our elders chuckling at his creativity. Caesar is in hysterics, barely able to contain himself as he clutches his ribs and struggles for breath. But he can't be funny for the entire interview – Caesar wants to delve into his life just as he did with Katniss.
"So, Peeta, what do you miss the most from home?" he asks.
Peeta thinks for a moment. "I miss..." He taps his lips with his finger and his eyes suddenly look worried. He glances down to where I know Haymitch is seated before taking a breath. "I miss seeing Katniss smile."
As the Capitol audiences coo and aww, all we can hear in District 12 is the wind through the square.
Every year, the Games begin with a bloodbath. Like the interviews, scores, and parade, it is mandatory viewing. Even the mines are shutdown for this. The front of the square becomes home to three large television screens – one that will follow Katniss, one that will follow Peeta, and one that will follow the action of the arena. Katniss's screen is on the far left and when the pedestals begin to rise, my stomach flops so uncomfortably that I have to shut my eyes.
But I can't shut them for much longer than a second because I know that Katniss needs me. Prim hugs my legs.
As she takes in the arena, I do as well. I'm attempting to overcome the helplessness that I feel. It is a river, with a small valley that houses the Cornucopia. There is a dam at the far end that we see when the cameras show the aerial view. The river is surrounded by rock that the tributes can climb up to reach a few hidden caves. In fact, there are more than a few – the caves are everywhere.
I hope that Katniss sees everything that I do.
Claudius Templesmith screams, "May the Seventieth annual Hunter Games begin!" I startle, my mind still assessing the arena as if I'm connected with my daughter.
Katniss keeps making faces and immediately it becomes clear to me that she is communicating with someone. I look toward Peeta's screen and see him making similar faces. They're communicating. Allies. My first thought is anger, that Haymitch would instruct them to work together. Katniss has a much better chance by herself, with the knowledge I've given to her and the lack of knowledge I know the baker's boy has. My fists clench as the time ticks down.
Suddenly, Katniss's feet begin to move.
"They're jumping off the pedestals," I murmur. Bevan looks up at me in horror, but I'm too focused on my daughter to notice. The clock continues to tick – 10, 9, 8 – and Peeta moves just like Katniss. The camera pans away from their faces and toward their feet – 7, 6, 5 – and I see their feet ready to jump. They send one last look at each other – 4, 3, 2 – as the last second runs out.
The cannon blows signaling the beginning of the game and my daughter is still in one piece.
Katniss and Peeta run as fast as they can away from the Cornucopia. My daughter has the mind to grab a backpack on her way and I even feel myself begin to smile. That's my girl. The two manage to get to the rock wall at the same time and Peeta lifts her up. They climb as my nails sink into my palms and Bevan buries her head into my arm and Prim sits at my feet with her mouth open and her eyes wide.
Just a little higher and they can get into one of the caves.
Katniss climbs into the cave first and reaches her hands out to grab Peeta just as the girl from Two – a blond-haired girl with a scowl – throws a knife. It lodges itself just to the left of Peeta's head. Katniss pulls him so hard the two go flying into the cave, landing with a skid on the floor. Satisfied that they're safe in their cave, I let my eyes glance toward the general screen to see if there is any danger coming toward them. Instead I see the boy from One behead the boy from Four with a sword. The screams from the girl from District 4, who stands just far enough away from the Cornucopia to not get a knife to the face, are loud and piercing.
I turn back toward Katniss's screen. She and Peeta are breathing heavily, but neither of them is hurt. Peeta sits against the wall and Katniss stands, ready to assess the cave.
That's my girl.
By the second day, Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith are bored. By the third they are talking about the weather in the Capitol. I don't mind at all that there haven't been any deaths since the bloodbath. No deaths mean that Katniss is safe for another day.
The Careers have decided to spend their time checking every cave for tributes to kill and sooner or later they will come upon one. But Katniss is such a smart little girl. She and Peeta climb to the higher caves during the night to keep moving. This means that the Careers don't catch them.
On my lunch break during the fourth day of the Games, Haymitch seems to have enough sponsors to send them a parachute of stew. The two of them have taken up quite a few hours of the general footage. The Capitol must enjoy their innocent games and chatting. Peeta creates a makeshift game of marbles with rounded rocks that they bring with them to their new caves. They're actually becoming friends.
I try to forget that there will only be one victor.
"Remember, remember, when Mrs. Brubaker broke the chair by sitting on it?" Katniss exclaims while they eat and play marbles.
Peeta falls into a fit of laughter, as do a few of the miners around me. I can't help but chuckle at Katniss's enthusiasm.
"I do!" he squeals. The two of them dissolve into more laughter together, but before long Peeta stops laughing and turns to her with wide eyes. "Wait, what if she's watching? Do you think she's embarrassed?"
Katniss shrugs and turns to the camera she found last night while they were exploring their new living quarters. "Sorry, Mrs. Brubaker!"
But then she starts giggling again and Peeta can't help but giggle with her. The two of them lay down on the stone floor, their tiny chests rising and falling with their struggle to catch their breaths from laughter.
Once they finally calm down, Katniss turns to Peeta. "I can't believe we weren't friends back home. You're so funny."
Peeta blushes crimson and shakes his head. "I'm not anything special."
I can almost say the words before they pop out of my daughter's mouth. "Don't say that!" she exclaims. "I think you're special."
"Really?"
Katniss nods.
Peeta looks like he has more to say, but a parachute drops in the opening of the cave.
My wife hasn't moved from in front of our projector for days. When I get home from work she's always there, usually sitting with Prim in her lap. Today she's so focused on Katniss and Peeta playing with their new marbles that I'm not sure she even realizes Prim is asleep on the floor beside her. I reach down and take Prim off the floor. She barely stirs as I carry her to bed and then walk back out to the projector.
She hasn't moved.
"Bevan," I say. She doesn't flinch. "Bevan."
"She's going to die in there, Hunter," she says, her eyes not leaving the screen. Her voice is flat. "They both are."
"Don't think like that."
She shakes her head and glares at me. "Stop telling Prim that she might come home," she hisses. "It's just getting everyone's hopes up."
"She might!" I yell. "With an arena like this? She's got as good a shot as anyone."
"If Katniss comes home, Peeta has to die," Bevan says. "And what do you think that's going to do to her?"
Bevan stands up and brushes passed me, slamming the door to the bedroom as she goes. I take her place in front of the projector and watch as Katniss and Peeta grow bored with the marbles. They lay down and Peeta offers her his arm as a pillow. Caesar talks about young love.
I wonder if anyone remembers that they're only twelve.
I try to pay attention while I'm at work. They have a screen that they bring into the mines so we can watch during breaks. The foreman often lets me slip away from work to watch a few minutes here or there. A couple guys offer to give me their lunch shift so I have extra time. I take them greedily, eager to keep my eyes glued to the screen for as long as I can.
Their friendship has intensified over the last few days. Their topics of conversation has gone so far passed small talk that anyone just tuning in might think they've been friends forever.
"Do like anyone?" Peeta asks.
"Of course. I like Prim and my parents and my friends an–"
"No," Peeta interrupts. "Do you like anyone?"
Katniss's eyes widen. "Shut up and eat your pears," she says, stuffing her own pears in her mouth to avoid answering. A few of the guys on break with me chuckle.
Peeta winces. "Sorry, you don't have to answer if you don't want to. I was just curious."
Katniss purses her lips, her eyes remaining on the small jar of pears Haymitch sent in a parachute. The Capitol must really enjoy their innocent little conversations because he's sending in more parachutes than I thought they'd receive. Her eyes dart up briefly when Peeta begins to eat again.
"Do you?" she asks.
Peeta nearly chokes on his mouthful of pears. "Uh..." he says, still coughing. "Maybe."
"What's so good about liking people?" Katniss asks, completely obviously to Peeta's reddening cheeks. I have to chuckle a bit at his comical expression. She gets impatient though when he doesn't answer. "Well?"
He takes a breath and shrugs. "I don't know. It must be nice to get married and have a best friend with you all the time."
Katniss takes this into consideration. My daughter is a thinker and not so much the idealist that her companion seems to be.
"Okay." She turns back to Peeta. "Who do you like?"
Peeta's eyes widen and his back straightens. "No one!"
"You brought it up!" Katniss squeals.
"I never said I liked anyone!"
Katniss blows out a breath in frustration. "You said maybe!"
"Exactly – maybe."
They stare at each other for a few minutes. Katniss eyes him curiously, a thought clearly forming in her head while Peeta begins to fidget in the silence. She finally puts the poor kid out of his misery by speaking again.
"Well, how do you figure it out?"
Peeta frowns. "Figure what out?"
"If you like somebody."
The kid thinks for a minute, really trying to answer Katniss honestly. "I guess you like to hug and kiss them."
"Do you like to hug and kiss anyone?"
"I've never done it before." Peeta picks up a rock and tosses it between his hands. Without looking up from the rock, he asks, "Have you?"
Katniss shakes her head. "Wanna try it?"
This gets Peeta to look up. His head jerks up so quickly I wouldn't be surprised if he broke his own neck. "With you?" he sputters.
Katniss glares at him. "Is there another girl in here?" she asks, using her hands to gesture to their cave. "We could just try it. I don't want to get married anyway but we could still try it. See what's so special."
"Why don't you want to get married?" Peeta asks.
"I don't want babies," Katniss says. Something flashes across her face, something like melancholy maybe, and she leans back against the wall of the cave. She lets out a breath. "I guess it doesn't matter anymore."
"Hey!" Peeta says, scooting over a little bit so he can nudge her shoulder. "You could still win! You'd be the next Finnick Odair – you'd be famous!"
"What about you?"
He shrugs. "No one needs me."
"What do you mean?"
Peeta doesn't answer immediately. He looks down at the cave floor and his normal smile disappears. "I don't know...my dad has my brothers to work at the bakery and my friends will be sad probably, but you have your sister that you have to teach everything to!" He looks up and gives her a small smile. "Besides, the district would be too sad to live in without you."
"It'd be sad without you too."
I almost miss it. It only last as long as it takes to blink. Katniss leans forward, her lips puckered, and presses them against Peeta's for a fraction of a second. Then she leans back. Peeta looks surprised and Katniss looks embarrassed.
"Why'd you do that?" Peeta asks.
She shrugs. "I don't know."
They sit, stiff and quiet, for a few moments before Peeta reaches next to him for their game. "Marbles?" he asks.
Katniss nods, looking relieved.
After a while, the entire arena is stagnant.
The Careers have decided not to expend their energy climbing through the rocks and instead set up fort at the Cornucopia with the plan to wait until everyone else starves to death. Then they'll fight each other. But other than a few unfortunate souls who were killed in the bloodbath and few hours after, most of the tributes are still alive and hiding out in caves.
By the end of the week, we're only really watching to see what Katniss and Peeta do and say.
Our house is full of tension. Bevan doesn't move from the screen, which always seems to be focused on our daughter and her companion. They've gotten a little too touchy for my liking. I know that they're twelve and it's all innocent – hugs and sleeping in the same sleeping bag don't mean to them as it would mean if they were a few years older – but it still doesn't settle with me. Bevan enjoys it a little too much. The other night, after we put Prim to bed and went to see what Haymitch had managed to secure them for dinner that night, she mentioned that she's glad that Katniss is at least having a crush before the end. Her voice was tinged with pessimism and I slept in front of the television. Or rather, I didn't sleep. I watched Katniss and Peeta talk until they fell asleep and then watched the two like a hawk, making sure they weren't in any danger.
Prim asked if Katniss would have cooties when she comes home. I told her no. Bevan reminded her that Katniss might not come home. We haven't talked since.
Instead I spend my time watching in the square or in the mines. I come home only when I have to because curfew is setting in. I don't do anything besides keep my eyes on Katniss.
She's coming home.
Peeta tells her that all the time.
She's coming home.
On day eleven there's an earthquake in the arena.
No one is expecting it. I suppose we all got a little too comfortable watching nothing happen. But it does happen. The entire arena shakes and I watch helplessly as Katniss bursts into tears. Peeta holds her in his arms, his eyes also wet but staring out at the opening of their cave. Once the quake finishes, he scoots them a little closer so he can get a good look.
When the earthquake erupted, the dam overlooking the arena broke and water quickly began flooding in. Even those in the arena weren't expecting it. We see that first hand with the Careers as they're the first to go, drowning in the sudden spill.
Peeta's face drops when he sees the water. Katniss's reaction must shock everyone the most – she's not scared at all. I thank my lucky stars that I taught her how to swim.
As the water starts to climb at an alarming rate up the rocks, other tributes start running out of their caves to reach higher ground. Katniss and Peeta don't move though – Peeta is frozen at the sight of the water.
"It's going to be okay," Katniss says. "It's only water. We'll just swim."
"I-I can't," he says, his face suddenly taking on a greener hue.
"I'll teach you!" she says. Her voice is in overdrive and I don't think she takes a breath as she tells him the basics – how to float, how to tread water, how not to use up all his energy. Peeta practices and Katniss watches the rising tide. As the water gets higher, she lets out a breath and leans against the wall, her eyes filling with tears.
"Hey," Peeta says, taking one last look at the water, which has now entered a cave about a hundred feet below, and goes to sit beside her. "We're going to be fine."
"No, we're not," Katniss hisses in her usual bluntness. "The girl from Four isn't dead yet. She's going to win."
"So? You know how to swim too!" I shake my head. Peeta Mellark may go down as the most optimistic tribute in history. "You can win this, Katniss."
"What about you?" she cries.
He leans forward and kisses her cheek. Katniss misses it, but anyone watching can see the terrified look in his eyes. He's scared, but he's doing this for her. I regret that I'll never be able to thank him for what he's doing for my daughter.
Peeta waits until Katniss looks up at him and then presses his hand over her heart. "I'll be right there. If you need me, that's where you can find me."
He prods her to stand up and the two go to the entrance of the cave. The water is rising quickly and Katniss turns to Peeta. "We're going to have to jump before the water rushes in. You have to keep your head above water."
Peeta however is looking at the water in fear and Katniss sighs, taking his hand. He turns to look down and then at her. They face each other for a moment and he smiles. "I'm glad I got to know you," he whispers.
"Me too," she says.
"But, if we do die, I want you to know that you're beautiful."
Katniss rolls her eyes and shakes her head, but Peeta yanks on her hand and she turns back to him. "I'm serious," he tells her. "I've had a crush on you forever. Ever since I heard you sing in music assembly. And, I mean, I should've said something when we were talking about it before, but now that…well, I just hope you win."
"Don't say that," Katniss says softly, her eyes leaving Peeta's for a brief moment to check the water levels. Cannons start firing left and right as tributes begin drowning and the water is nearly to their cave. "Don't give up yet."
"I can't swim," he says. "But you can. You can win this, Katniss!"
She shakes her head and looks back down at the water. "Remember what I said about floating. It'll save your energy when you're too tired from treading water," she says and then she reaches up on her tiptoes and kisses him. "Together?" she asks.
"Together," he replies.
And the two jump in the water.